Chapter 4 - The Plea from the CellThere is nothing quite as pathetic as a wolf who realized he threw away his gold for painted tin, begging the queen for mercy.
Six months later.
The visitation room of the County Correctional Facility smelled of floor wax, stale coffee, and rust. Heavy glass dividers separated the stainless-steel booths, while guards stood quietly near the concrete walls.
I sat on my side of the booth, wearing a cream cashmere coat, holding a small leather handbag in my lap.
The heavy metal door opened, and Justin was led out by an officer.
He looked unrecognizable.
The man who once wore three-thousand-dollar Italian suits and boasted about his influence now wore a faded orange jumpsuit. His hair was cropped short, his skin was sickly pale, and he had lost at least twenty pounds. His hands were cuffed at the wrists, rattling against the metal counter as he sat down.
He picked up the black plastic telephone receiver with trembling fingers.
I picked up mine, holding it smoothly to my ear.
"Clara..." Justin sobbed, his voice breaking instantly as tears welled in his red, sunken eyes. "Clara... thank God you came... please... you have to help me..."
"I have five minutes, Justin," I said, my voice completely flat, devoid of anger, sadness, or warmth. "State your business."
"Clara, I'm so sorry!" Justin wept, pressing his forehead against the cold glass separator. "I was out of my mind! Rachel manipulated me! She tricked me into thinking those babies were mine! She used me, Clara!"
"You embezzled eight hundred thousand dollars from my company, Justin," I reminded him gently. "Rachel didn't forge your signature on those wire transfers. You did."
"I did it for us!" Justin pleaded wildly. "I thought... I thought I was giving us a future! I wanted to be a father so badly, Clara! You know how much that broke me!"
"You were sterile, Justin," I said coldly. "And instead of being honest with me—instead of trusting me as your wife of twelve years—you let your ego dictate every disgusting choice you made. You blamed my body for twelve years for your own biological failure."
Justin flinched, as if the truth were a physical whip tearing through his flesh.
"I know... I know I was a monster," Justin whimpered, squeezing his eyes shut. "My parents won't talk to me, Clara. My father disowned me. The guys at the firm won't take my calls. I'm facing eight years in state prison! Please... talk to the prosecutor. Tell them it was a marital dispute! Drop the criminal charges!"
I looked at him—at the man I had once loved, the man whose tie I used to straighten every morning, the man I had built into a respected executive.
I felt no hatred. I felt no urge to scream. I simply felt a deep, profound sense of absolute emptiness.
"No, Justin," I whispered smoothly into the receiver.
Justin froze, his breath catching in his throat. "What?"
"You signed those divorce papers because you thought you were leaving me with nothing," I said, my eyes locking onto his with razor-sharp clarity. "You laughed in my face when you thought you had won. Now, you will serve every single day of your eight-year sentence. And when you get out... you will spend the rest of your life paying back every dime you stole from me."
"Clara! Please! Don't do this! I love you! I still love you!" Justin screamed, slamming his handcuffed hands against the glass.
May you like
I set the black receiver down on its cradle, stood up, smoothed out my cashmere coat, and turned my back on him.
As the guards dragged a wailing, hysterically crying Justin back toward the cellblock, I stepped out into the bright, warm afternoon air, feeling the sun kiss my face.
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